The air on Underground Level 3 felt as if it had been frozen solid.
“Iron Wall” Artyom Volkov blocked the emergency exit, his massive frame over two meters tall completely filling the doorway. His gray-blue eyes glinted with a piercing cold light under the pale fluorescent lamps. His breathing was steady and deep, each exhale causing the surrounding air to tremble slightly—a sign of “Absolute Rigid Body” being in a semi-activated state. The ability had already permeated every inch of his skin, every muscle, every bone.
Behind Ling Ling, Surtr’s flame sword dragged along the ground, its gold-red light melting a deep groove into the concrete floor. Surtr’s amber eyes narrowed slightly, as if appraising two prey that had wandered into a trap.
Two S-classes. One renowned for absolute defense, the other for flames of destruction. And caught between them were two girls barely over five feet tall.
Surtr spoke first.
“A multiple ability holder?” Her voice carried a metallic chill. “The Cradle’s database had similar experiment records. The Killing Angel Project, right? Didn’t expect the little white mouse that escaped the facility back then to come knocking on our door.”
Ling Ling didn’t answer.
She stood half a step in front of Lin Jiu, her crimson eyes calmly watching Surtr through the eyeholes of her mask.
Her right hand hung naturally at her side, fingers slightly curled, while her left hand subtly moved to the storage box at her waist. Inside, the Divine Relic crystal pulsed with a faint rhythm.
“Sis.” Lin Jiu’s gentle, water-like voice came from behind. “Leave the big guy to me.”
Ling Ling’s eyebrow twitched.
“Xiao Jiu.”
“Hmm?”
“That redhead has a nasty mouth.”
“So?”
“So I’m going to punch her first.”
The moment the words fell, Ling Ling moved.
Her right foot slammed into the ground, leaving a dent in the concrete floor. Her entire body shot forward like a cannonball, while the spot she’d just occupied was already swallowed by a burst of flames.
Surtr’s flame sword swept across, the air twisting from the heat.
“Good reaction.” Surtr’s voice came from within the flames. “But—”
She couldn’t finish.
Because Ling Ling had already appeared to her left.
Less than half a meter away.
“Too slow.”
Ling Ling’s right elbow came down like a sledgehammer, smashing toward Surtr’s temple.
The blow carried no ability enhancement, only pure physical power. The elbow split the air with a sharp whistle.
Surtr’s pupils contracted.
She couldn’t swing her sword in time, so she raised her left arm to block.
Elbow met arm.
A dull, heavy blast exploded across Underground Level 3, like a sledgehammer striking a steel plate. The air around the point of contact was compressed into a visible white shockwave that spread outward. Tiny bits of gravel on the concrete floor were kicked up by the blast, striking the walls like bullets.
Surtr’s feet slid.
She took half a step back.
Just half a step, but it was enough.
Ling Ling’s left foot was already following up, her center of gravity dropping. Her right fist shot out from her waist like a spring. A thin layer of flame condensed on her knuckles—the Scorch she had just adapted from Surtr’s own fire. It could only replicate a portion of the original power, but it was enough to break through the other’s flame defense.
The fist slammed into Surtr’s abdomen.
Flame clashed against flame.
Surtr’s body bent slightly, a flicker of disbelief in her amber eyes.
Her ability was Scorch, which could turn any substance it touched into a combustible and release high heat. In theory, any flame should have been absorbed, converted, or devoured in the face of her power.
But the fire on Ling Ling’s fist was burning her.
Not a physical burn—as an S-class, her body could easily withstand thousands of degrees, and with her fire affinity, she could tolerate even higher temperatures. This was a “burn” on the ability level.
Ling Ling’s Scorch, though only a fraction of the original, had the added trait of Ability Adaptation. It was no longer a simple flame—it was a flame “adapting to her ability’s characteristics.”
With every contact, the flame grew harder for her to absorb.
With every clash, the flame sought the gaps in her ability’s defenses.
“You—”
Before Surtr could finish the sentence, Ling Ling’s third strike came.
A left knee drove toward her chest.
Surtr rotated her right wrist, bringing the flame sword back to guard, the blade horizontal across her chest.
The knee struck the sword.
Flames exploded.
The Scorch coating Ling Ling’s knee clashed violently with Surtr’s flame sword. Two similar but differently sourced flames tore into each other like mad beasts.
The heat warped the figures of both women, and the air filled with the acrid smell of ozone from ionized gas.
This time, Surtr retreated three steps.
Ling Ling landed back on the ground, her crimson eyes calmly fixed on her opponent.
She said flatly, “S-class? That’s it?”
Hearing Ling Ling’s taunt, Surtr’s face darkened.
This “little mouse” wasn’t just strong—she had a sharp tongue, too.
For the first time, real killing intent appeared in Surtr’s amber eyes.
On the other side of the battlefield, Artyom Volkov looked down at the black-haired girl blocking his path.
Lin Jiu was only one meter fifty-eight tall. Standing before the two-meter Artyom, the top of her head barely reached his chest. She had to tilt her head back to see his chin.
But the way she tilted her head wasn’t like someone looking up at a giant.
It was more like a hunter sizing up its prey.
“Little girl.” Artyom’s voice was low like rolling thunder. “Step aside. You’re not my target.”
“But.” Lin Jiu tilted her head, her sapphire eyes curving into crescents. “You are my target.”
Artyom’s brow furrowed slightly.
He didn’t like this feeling.
As an S-class of the Defense Department, the title “Iron Wall” wasn’t earned through seniority—it was forged in countless real battles. His Absolute Rigid Body could make his entire body several times harder than military-grade alloy armor while maintaining full flexibility and mobility. Among all known S-class ability users in Akasha City, his defense ranked first.
Rumor had it that he had once stood at the epicenter of an intercontinental missile explosion without a scratch.
That rumor was true.
But now, facing this black-haired girl who barely reached his chest, wore a black mask, and spoke in a soft voice, his instincts were screaming a warning.
It was a reflex honed on the edge of life and death countless times.
This little girl was dangerous.
“Last warning.” Artyom’s voice dropped even lower. “Move!”